


Bro-Nacht!

by alifirecat



Category: Lost Girl (TV)
Genre: Gen, Original Characters - Freeform, a werewolf and a trickster walk into a bar, bro-night, getting drunk to repair a friendship, how to forgive your best friend when he sleeps with your sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21711802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alifirecat/pseuds/alifirecat
Summary: Rory's Rules for a Happy Life:1. Lacey is the devil2. Quinn is the man3. The devil and the man DO NOT SLEEP TOGETHERWell... rule #3 got broken...----------------------Rory is not speaking to Quinn.Because Quinn slept with his sister and Quinn is his best bro and it was Rory's ONE rule, that his best friend and sister do not bump uglies because it always ruins his friends and he has to find new ones and he's keeping Quinn! Quinn is HIS best friend dammit...Quinn is not speaking to Rory.Because... Rory is annoying and he prefers it that way.This is how they mend fences.Sort of.
Relationships: original - Relationship
Kudos: 1





	Bro-Nacht!

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first time posting on AO3 ("Wooo..." she cheers nervously while trying not to throw up)  
> The story is based in an RPG that I write in with some friends of mine, inspired by several different fandoms, namely Lost Girl. One Christmas season, I was visiting with one of them and this scene just sorta came to me. I spent the weekend writing it and laughed so much in the process. The formatting is weird because it's based in a turn-based writing group format. I'm hoping to work on that at some point. It's been almost a year and I haven't done anything with it so here's what you need to know: 
> 
> In this world, werewolves and vampires and witches and fairies (fae) exist. The world doesn't know about them. So there's Waystations, bars where they can be themselves, where non-locals come to check-in. The Dal is one such bar and it's owned by Quinn O'Reilly, a werewolf. He employs Rory Mason, a trickster (fairy half-breed) and Rory's sister, Lacey Mason, a succubus. And Rory had one rule, that his best friend, Quinn, and his sister, Lacey, DO NOT EVER SLEEP TOGETHER. EVER. 
> 
> **NOTE: There are parts of this that I didn't write, the parts belonging to LACEY were written by my friend, Kyra. They are clearly marked (due to the strange formatting) So yeah, questions? Enjoy...

_Around Christmas…_

It had been a busy couple of weeks for the Dal. Always was around this time of year. The approach of the new year seemed to instill in people a kind of helplessness that only severe inebriation could alleviate. Well, that and it was better than being with their family.

Quinn could sympathize. That’s why he was availing himself of the Dal’s special reserve. In his basement lounge, he reclined by the fireside, a bottle of glittering amber liquid by his hand, a tumbler dangling from one hand while he thought over all that happened in the months since he’d reopened the Dal.

Rory wasn’t talking to him and for once - perhaps the only time _ever_ \- that was a bad thing.

Quinn never thought there would come a time he would miss the annoying trickster. It's not like he hadn't been warned. He'd known what he was doing. It didn’t matter that Lacey was a succubus; she was Rory’s sister and his friend had been very clear that they were _not_ to get horizontal with each other. Now, the trickster was almost solemn these days. It was beginning to hurt their bottom line. People liked a sad bartender about as much as they liked sad clowns. Which is to say, not at all.

Speaking of the poor bitch, he wondered where Rory had got to, tonight. If Quinn were to guess, he'd have said Rory was probably in Aspen trying to teach a Kardashian how to ski - Rory was obsessed with them; he kept programming Quinn’s DVR to record the episodes - and wouldn’t return until after the new year with some Swedish model on his arm.

Though it was probably for the best, Quinn had to admit that it was just... unnaturally quiet without Rory around. Or, at least it _had been_. Just then, Quinn thought he heard something, a faint thread of music. It wasn't Lacey's style. Had those newfangled speakers fritzed out again? Fucking technology. Getting up from his chair, he swayed momentarily and realized he was drunk. Following the sound through the arched door of his study to the base of the stairs leading up into the bar, Quinn paused as recognition dawned. Was that...Lionel Richie?

 **RORY:  
** _'Two hearts,  
_ _Two hearts that beat as one  
_ _Our lives have just begun'_

_Yeah...two hearts. More like 4. Or 5; why not 5? 5 was a good number, a prime number for the prime man, the main man, the alpha, the wolf, top dog…_

This was the kind of heartache that only severe intoxication could treat. Yes, treat; not cure. Actually, the more he drank the worse Rory felt. He needed a better prescription for betrayal. The music was hardly helping either but that had been his fault. He really shouldn’t be allowed to buy things online when he was like this. That’s how he’d ended up with so many Beanie Babies. The playlist, however, ‘Ultimate Love Songs’, had seemed a perfect salt to the wounds his sister, the wolf, and the witch had all left. And he was right in that at least. Well, and he was getting perfectly shitfaced on Quinn’s supply. It was a pleasant bonus to stick it to the damn, sexy, wolfie bastard. Oh yeah, and he’d taken one of the new Sonos speakers Quinn had set up to play music upstairs and connected his iPod to it down here. The thing rarely worked upstairs anyway. All that damn residual magic or something. The witch had explained it all but he hadn't been listening. The way her mouth moved had been too distracting.

The sound of Lionel Richie and Diana Ross’s ‘Endless Love’ filled the small space. Sullenly, Rory tipped up the bottle and took another long drink, sliding sideways on the barrel he was sitting up against until he landed in a sprawl on the hard-packed floor.

 **QUINN:  
** The music grew louder as he followed it down the hall to the closed door of the cellar stores where they kept all the inventory. The music was coming from behind that locked door. But, of course, as Quinn knew, a locked door didn’t mean anything to a trickster. Sighing, Quinn unhooked the keyring from his belt and, after flicking through the keys a moment, fitted one into the lock. Pushing open the door, he was surrounded now by the unmuffled sounds of one of his new speakers bouncing off the low ceiling and walls of the cellar. Among the crates and barrels sprawled Rory, looking somehow both insubordinate and yet supremely pathetic at the same time.

**RORY:**  
The mechanical sound of a key in the lock was Rory’s only warning. Hand scrambling, he searched for the iPod to change the song but his fingers fumbled and he only he ended up tracking back a few seconds in the song after which he promptly dropped the iPod. In his frantic attempts to catch it, Rory upset the bottle in his other hand. He cursed as the alcohol spilled. It was only after several moments of clumsy fumbling that he finally righted the bottle and paused the song, plunging the cellar into a tense, embarrassing quiet. Palming the iPod, Rory rolled his head back to look up at the wolf. “Hey, sister-fucker…” he slurred quite drunkenly.

Quinn sighed a scoffing sound. "Hello... make yourself at home." Moving further inside until he stood over the prone trickster, he sighed again. “Look, it just happened.” 

Rory snorted and bit out acidly “Oh, what? Like you tripped and she fell?” The venom might have been more effective had his wild gesticulation not sloshed his drink all over his face making him wince. At that moment, he looked very much like those videos of babies when they bite into a lemon. Quinn had to fight not to laugh. There would be time for that later.

“I said I was sorry.” he paused, “You know, we don’t have to ask your permission.”

Despite his sarcasm a few seconds before, Rory dismissed the wolf’s apologies with a wave of his hand as though they were a fart someone left in an elevator. “Eh… it was bound to happen at some point. Not your fault. I know you couldn’t help it. And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t your idea.”

While he was right in one respect, Quinn chose not to correct Rory on the fact that he hadn’t been able to help himself or that it hadn’t been his idea. Quinn was pretty sure it had been an idea forefront in his thoughts since he’d met Lacey. Instead, he pointed at what Rory had in his hands, grinning. “So, whatcha got there?”

 _Drat._ “Oh, this?” Rory said attempting a look of innocence one might paint on a Botticelli angel, shiny white naked tush and all. (If there was one thing Rory was proud of, it was his tush) Lifted the iPod, he turned the screen before showing it to Quinn. “My iPod.”

Quinn wasn't buying that look. “Uh-huh…” he murmured. _‘Duh’_ his tone said. “And did you pay for it?”

Screwing up his face, Rory considered for a moment before answering cheekily. “…define ‘pay’..." Honestly, Quinn should know better than to ask.

Why did he bother? Sighing, he eased himself down to sit on one of the standing barrels opposite where Rory lay. Looking down at the trickster, he flicked his glass once more at the iPod in his hand. “So… Lionel Richie, huh?”

Though he feigned innocence, Rory’s grip on the iPod tightened defensively. “I... don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon, Rory, I have ears. Good ones, too. I’m pretty sure the Corner Mart down the block could hear it. What’s going on? You only go for the sap-fest when you’re really down. Is it really about your sister because...that’d be weird.”

“UGH, NO! EW!” He physically recoiled at Quinn’s comment, stumbling to his feet and staggering several steps before catching his balance. Seriously? The wolf was, as usual, clueless of his effect on women. “It’s...the witch.”

“The...witch…?” he repeated, "Which wi-" he cut off, considering a moment before it clicked. He went from confused to admiring. “Ohhh...right. Zara.” Well now, things were beginning to make a lot more sense. Rory winced as though Quinn saying her name pained him. It lasted only a second before a dreamy expression took its place as he settled himself onto one of the barrels as though Rory would let her turn him into a newt any day. “Good choice,” Quinn admitted. Honestly, both of the Owens witches were undeniably gorgeous though the redhead was one he would hesitate to mess with unless he wanted to find himself on fire. “So...what’s the problem? There are plenty of women out there, man. Especially for you. Men, too, even. I’ve seen you turn the opposite team to your side more than once while working here… I mean, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

The problem is that Quinn was a perfect specimen of Superior Man and had no effing clue and he was all damaged and brooding and women just loved that. He waved his hand casually. “Sexuality is a spectrum." he sighed magnanimously before lifting a hand in a dismissive wave. "Bah, it’s all the same. Women, men... one or two djinn...that one time with a hermaphroditic dryad…”

Quinn nodded, lifting his glass to his lips, promptly choking on his drink. “Wha-” he sputtered, eyes watering. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, cutting the werewolf off. It wasn't spoken out of embarrassment, it was that same dismissiveness as before except it was missing that trademark, cocky surety his former friend was known for, as though it were the least of his problems. Sighing again, Rory shook his head. “I dunno, Q. This one… she’s...special, man.”

Oh, crap. He’d never heard Rory talk like this before. Well, there was that showgirl in Vegas… and that stewardess that one time… Oh, and that Thai girl (who actually turned out to be a Thai boy) but that had all been a really long time ago. And none of them had driven him to Lionel Richie. Oh. _Oh._ “You...you’re in love!” he murmured with a grin, almost disbelieving. Go figure. It was probably because she didn’t put up with his usual shit. 

“What?! N-no!” Pause. “Maybe...?” Another pause. The next time he spoke, it was with hesitant chagrin. “Definitely, maybe...?” A longer pause. "...oh shit."

Even as Rory denied it, Quinn was shaking his head in sympathy for the poor bitch, chuckling. “Yep." he said, popping his lips on that one syllable. "Congrats. You’re in love.” Leaning over, he held out his glass to Rory in commiseration. "Game over."

Okay, even Rory didn’t believe his own denials now. “Yeah.” he sighed in what could only be described as begrudging, humiliating acceptance. Head hanging, he stretched out his arm and gently tapped his bottle against Quinn’s glass. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he paused and with dreaded apprehension asked, “Is it that obvious?”

He nearly spits out his drink at Rory’s question. Rory, who had no filter and said whatever he thought and felt without thought was asking if his sudden lovestruck heartache was obvious. To be honest, Quinn had thought that Rory’s persistent flirting had been just that, flirting. It wasn’t something that Quinn hadn’t seen a thousand times before. Yet, clearly, this was different. “That poem you wrote when you were supposed to be doing inventory? What was it..?" he paused, trying to remember how it went, _"Oh witchy witch, you are so lovely, I'd let you turn me into a frog..."_ again he paused but this time it was the bite back a snort, _"Won't you come out with me for a hot cuppa grog?'_ "

“Oh yeah.” he murmured, smiling. He'd be rather proud of that one. #NailedIt.

Quinn was still chuckling and shook his head, shrugging, "But, you're you so, you know, grain o' salt and all that.” he said, tipping his head in a nod at the speaker sitting atop a nearby barrel. "But uh... the Lionel Richie kinda gave it away this time."

At this, Rory's smug smile deadpanned into a stupid expression of shock. "Oh..." Well, that made sense. Seeing as how he couldn’t hide it, Rory figured he might as well fess up. “It was on this playlist...”

The slight smile of amusement at the corner of Quinn's mouth pulled even wider. “What playlist?” Without waiting this time, Quinn lunged forward and snatched it the iPod out of Rory's hand. Unlocking the screen Quinn immediately barked out a laugh. The cover art was a pink-toned photograph of a couple embracing on a beach, the words 'Ultimate Love Songs' superimposed over it in flowery script. It was a good thing he hadn’t taken another drink otherwise he would have actually spit it out this time as he choked down another laugh. The guy must really have it bad. “Oh man, I’m gonna need another drink.” Draining his glass, Quinn turned in place and reached for a bottle on one of the shelves behind him. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he poured a healthy measure. Gesturing with the glass, liquid sloshing, he indicated that Rory should start the playlist over. Why not? It wasn’t as if his love life was anything to be proud of - one spectacular night with a succubus not included.

Mutinously not reacting, Rory waited while Quinn laughed himself out, nodding as the wolf fortified himself. After another swig from his bottle, Rory started the playlist over again. Setting back against one of the support beams, Rory listened as “I Wanna Know What Love Is” by Foreigner filled the room. He listened without looking at Quinn until the chorus rose, the only part of the song he knew, and mouthed along with the words. _’I wanna know what love is… I want you to show me.’_ Almost immediately, he was swaying. “See, you know, this song! It’s so true!”

“What?” Quinn scoffed. “C’mon. I’ve seen you. You’ve been with hundreds of women.” This wasn’t an exaggeration. Quinn was pretty sure he was lowballing that number. The thing about their kind is that, at a certain point, they just stopped aging. The numbers tended to pile up after a while. “If anyone knows about love, it’s you.”

In fact, Quinn wasn’t far off. Rory was pretty sure he was somewhere in the low 700’s by now. For once, he chose not to clarify. “I’m not talking about sex, man. I’m saying _for real_. I mean, I’ve been with people who have been in love with me but I’m not so sure I have.”

Now, that, Quinn found hard to believe. “What? Not even once?” he shot back, incredulous and seriously doubtful. “What about...oh...what was her name, that model you met at that New Year's Eve party?”

Eyes rolled back to look at Quinn with a note of dubious skepticism at the man’s intelligence. “Uhm...you’re gonna have to be much more specific.” he muttered, tossing down another swallow from the bottle. “I’ve been with a lot of models.” Still, he considered. New Year's Eve… model… Rory figured he’d take a guess. One out of 300? He’d had worse odds. “Was it Susan?”

“No! Susan was the spritzer girl at Neiman Marcus.” How was it he remembered Rory’s ex’s better than Rory did? “You know the one I’m talking about! Tall, dark hair…” He was beginning to see the problem now in finding a way of describing Rory’s ex’s when they all sorta ran together. “Oh, she was obsessed with driftwood sculptures!”

Oh, now he knew the one Quinn was talking about. He wished he didn’t. “Oh! _Vivica._ ” he spat the name as though it were the most blasphemous of obscenities.

Aha! He snapped his fingers. “Yes! Vivica. Yeah, you were obsessed with her. You disappeared to the Bahamas for 4 months! Are you telling me that wasn’t love?”

“Yeah, until I teleported into your living room begging you to hide me for a few weeks! Unless that wasn’t enough of a clue - no, that was not love, that was _terror!_ For crying out loud, Q, she thought Olive Garden was the height of fine, _foreign_ cuisine. Woman nearly bankrupted me buying all those fucking driftwood sculptures!”

“Oh, right.” Quinn chuckled, remembering. Lifting his glass, he tried to hide his amusement at Rory’s expense and failed. One thing Quinn didn’t envy his womanizing friend, it was his taste in women. It was proof that nature always had a way of balancing things out. Rory, while being ungodly attractive to both sexes, often managed to choose the worst possible mates. He was like that guy who was allergic to shellfish yet couldn’t stay away from Red Lobster, the diabetic chocoholic. Rory always wanted what was bad for him.

“Yeah, yeah… laugh it up furball.” he muttered, lifting his bottle. He couldn't help but smile though. Because he and Quinn were talking again.

* * *

_Sometime later..._

Throughout several sappy sonnets, they both went through their bottles until their mouths were numb. Somewhere in there, Rory forgot to stay mad at Q and then, sometime later, forgot why he was supposed to be. At some point, it had been decided that the evening was to be christened ‘bro-nacht’ after the traditional ‘Krampus Nacht’ and that since this was a ‘man-night’ they needed a ‘man’ drink. So Rory ‘ported out for a few six-packs of beer. His return, however, was not exactly…exact. He wound up across the room, on top of a stack of crates which, off-balanced, immediately toppled over sending Rory crashing to the floor. Once all had settled, there came a weak, muffled groan from underneath the mess. “Owwww.”

The room, already loose at the edges when he'd walked in, was now swaying around Quinn. It was good that Rory had gone out for drinks as he could not trust himself to stand just now. The sudden reappearance of the Trickster across the room and his subsequent crash earned a roar of laughter from Quinn. “I give you points for style but your dismount needs work!” he cackled, rocking back on the teetering barrel.

No longer trusting his teleportation, Rory half dragged, half crawled out from the mess of broken crates, cradling the six-packs like footballs under each arm. When he finally got to Quinn, he pulled a can free and tossed it to the wolf. “Bite me,” he muttered, popping the top on his own and draining half. After letting out a healthy belch, he added, “That’s not an invitation.”

He chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t take you up on it anyone. Who knows where you’ve been.” Why wasn’t Rory this much fun all the time? Oh… right… because Quinn was usually sober when he dealt with the trickster. Right then, Joe Cocker’s “Up Where We Belong” came on and Quinn, taking a drink from his beer, waved his hand at the speaker. “Oh, this is a good one!”

“Classic!” he agreed, slurring the S’s. Tipping up his beer again, Rory began to sway to the voice of Jennifer Warnes’ opening verse. It wasn’t long before he started humming along with the lyrics. He had to do it; it was Joe Cocker. As the chorus rose up, Rory tipped his head back and sang along, _“Love lift us up where we belong! Where the eagles cry! On a mountain high!”_

Within a few words, Quinn also found himself first moving slightly along with the music and then humming with the tune. He didn’t know the words to the verses but, Quinn was willing to bet there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know the chorus. As if on cue, Rory began belting out the words. At first, Quinn laughed. Then, he joined in. _“Love lift us up where we belong! Far from the world we know, where the clear winds blow!"_ As soon as Quinn joined in it became almost a karaoke competition. Rory began gesturing theatrically as though he were actually performing for a live audience instead of just his boss.

They were really getting into it now. When Rory started performing his one-man show, Quinn couldn’t sing for his laughter and had to give up, leaving Rory to finish out the song. Quickly draining the last of his beer. Quinn crushed the can against his forehead in one smooth move and then flung the squashed result over his shoulder.

Now _that_ was cool. And manly. Rory wanted to do that! Chugging down the rest of his beer, he flexed and bellowed “BRO-NACHT!” before attempting to crush his own can against his forehead. Only, the can didn’t crush. It didn’t even crinkle. In fact, the blow knocked Rory backward off the barrel and onto the floor. This time, Quinn laughed so hard he thought he tore something, almost falling off his barrel. Barely holding himself upright, he couldn't even speak through his gasping laughs.

“Owwww, " Rory whined pathetically from the floor. "Shut up. I think I gave myself a concussion.” It might serve him better to just stay down here. It was then the smooth voice of Lionel once more filled the windowless, stone room.

Seeing that Rory wasn’t getting up, it seemed to make more sense for Quinn to join the Trickster down there. Plonking down, he rested his back against the barrel next to Rory. It was so nice to be talking to him again. Not that he would tell _him_ that. And this was a good song.

Rory could agree; it really was a good song. As the inimitable Diana Ross began to sing, so, too, did Rory in a truly impressive falsetto. _“My first love, you're every breath that I take, You're every step I make…”_

 _“And I-”_ Quinn gave this one more feeling now, carried away on drink and music.

Rory joined in, oh he’d make Diana proud tonight. _“I-I-I-I-I”_

Their voices rose over the music together, _"I want to share, all my love with you!”_

**LACEY:  
** At first, she had bitched about having to stay later than usual while Rory decided to take his leave without so much as to a reason why, and Quinn disappeared downstairs (maybe not wishing to be alone with her anymore), and that left her without having much of a choice if she wanted to keep this job. So when the last patron decided to finally leave (or more like she actually kicked his Fae-ass out), she was shrugging into that worn leather coat and prepared to close up shop. Yet, music broke through the quiet of the Dal after such a long and busy day, and it nagged at her curiosity. At first, she couldn’t be sure as to what it was, but as she followed the sound down the steps and to that hallway, the song became all too clear. Peering into the open doorway, the succubus would be granted a front-row seat to the Bromance Show. Amusement bubbled up to the surface, but the shock of this display had Lacey suddenly stunned and nearly frozen. Without- no, unable to remove her eyes from the scene, a hand reached into the back pocket of her jeans to retrieve her phone. Within a matter of moments, she was hitting record.

**RORY:  
** It really was a beautiful thing. Even aching with various bruises already forming - one of which was a perfect, purpling circle on his forehead - Rory thought this might be the best night of his time here at the Dal. “I love you, man.” he sighed, tipping sideways to lean into Quinn groggily.

With a laugh, he patted Rory on the back. “I know,” he chuckled and gently pushed Rory off of him until the Trickster was upright once more.

“Ahaaaa…A Star Wars reference! Well played, sir.” he slurred, grinning stupidly. Upright now, Rory nodded, that dopey expression frozen on his face. “Well played.” And with that, he tipped back in the other direction, falling to the floor where he lay, out cold.

Snorting with laughter, Quinn rocked backward until he, too, overbalanced and fell back onto the floor. Within minutes, his snores accompanied the still crooning tones of Lionel and Diana. Love sure was a beautiful thing.

* * *

_The morning after…_

**LACEY:  
** And it was a beautiful morning at that, though it was leaning more towards early afternoon at this point! Lacey made sure to get to work a couple hours before she was scheduled because she just knew that at least her brother was going to walk in there looking like he got hit by a bus that promptly backed up over him, only to run over him a third time. Oh yes, amused wasn’t enough to describe what she felt after seeing the drunken display last evening, one that she was sure to get evidence of. You know, for blackmailing later down the line. So much win.

Wiping down the counter and tables, Lacey gently swayed back and forth, lowly and idly singing along with the tune that had been stuck in her head since the adorable sing-along in the basement last evening. “You will always be...my endless looooove…”

**QUINN:  
** _Quinn needed food._ Somehow, and he wasn't sure how- and was pretty sure he didn’t _want_ to know how - but he’d ended up in his own bed with no memory of how he'd gotten there. He’d woken in the same clothes he’d worn the night before so that was a plus. At least it meant he hadn’t done anything too worrisome. Last Quinn could remember been drinking Ambersynth by the fire in his study, going through the previous day’s receipts. At first, he’d thought that he might have fallen asleep in his chair and had sleep-walked to bed. That had happened before. It was only when he tried to move and felt that telltale nausea and voracious hunger that was familiar to him even though it hadn’t happened in a very long time. The consequences of getting drunk and passing out for a wolf was that you healed from your hangover but it consumed all your energy stores leaving you feeling hollow and dizzy as though you were just getting over the stomach flu (or so Quinn assumed, he’d never had the stomach flu). What the hell had happened last night?

Making his way downstairs, Quinn had already consumed 4 protein bars and was planning on availing himself of the largest greasy spoon diner breakfast he could find within the nearest 2 blocks. However, he’d just reached the ground floor of the bar when Lacey’s singing voice made him freeze in place. There was something about that song that he couldn’t put his finger on…

Meanwhile, Rory was dying. Really, someone should just kill him and get it over with. He was dying already. Everything - and he meant ‘everything’ hurt. Slumped over on a barstool, Rory cradled an ice pack to the strangely perfect circular bruise on his forehead. Every now and then he’d let out a plaintive moan hoping someone would just put him out of his misery. Or feed him. Cuz food would be great. That was supposing he’d keep anything down. Given the past hour in which he’d been awake, that didn’t seem likely. His sister’s obnoxiously chipper mood was not helping matters. Rory heard rather than saw Quinn come down and walk into the bar (his footsteps were distinctive in that they sounded as though a giant were clog-dancing atop empty barrels). “Q,” he moaned. “Make her stop. I don’t care what it takes.”

**LACEY:  
** Now that the wolf finally decided to join the party, she could really enjoy more of this day. Turning in place to face the two, she took her time in sauntering her way over to the bar where she would obnoxiously toss the wet rag into Rory’s face. “Two hearts, two hearts that beat as one...Our lives have just begun…” She couldn’t stop. Honestly, the song was so damn catchy! However, when she moved on closer to her brother, casually leaning against the edge of the bartop, she stopped her singing to grin madly; eyes flicking back and forth between Trickster and Werewolf. “Long night?”

**RORY:  
** The wet rag slapping against his face made him flinch belatedly with a groan. Picking it up, he flung it back at her, missing spectacularly so that it got hung up on some of the bottles on shelves behind the bar. At the continued singing, Rory whimpered and lowered his head until his cheek rested on the bartop, the cool wood felt soothing against his clammy skin. Clearly, the wolfman could be of no help. “Ungh… have pity, devil woman... Rory dying.” he whined.

**QUINN:  
** It was right there, that feeling you get when you’ve forgotten something. Quinn even lifted his hands to pat his pockets as though checking to make sure he hadn’t forgotten his wallet upstairs. But that wasn’t it… Meanwhile, Rory looked to be in spectacularly bad shape at the bar, holding an ice pack to his forehead. Also, and perhaps more surprisingly, he was talking to Quinn again. He supposed his friend must have forgiven him for sleeping with his sister. Not so much his sister it seemed as Lacey was obviously in a particularly good mood. Looking around, Quinn couldn’t see any evidence of a wild, raucous party having taken place last night after he went down to his office in the form of abandoned undergarments and condom wrappers which meant that both of his ground rules were being upheld so he couldn’t imagine what it could be. “You’re perky this morning,” he commented in a groan of only mild irritation and more than a little suspicion. It never boded well when she was perky. Quinn had a better sense of humor after he’d had coffee. And he wouldn't say no to some bacon. A lot of bacon, actually. Just... the whole pig. Yup. “If I may ask, is there any particular reason you are torturing your brother?” Pause. “Not that I mind,” he added.

**LACEY:  
** Eyes flickered to Quinn, and that dark smile creased her lips. “Aren't I always?” She stood up just a bit straighter to accentuate that...perkiness. But her smile suddenly became far more amused as she retrieved the phone from the back pocket of her jeans and absently leafed through the random photos and videos. To answer his question, she tapped 'play' on the screen, then set the phone down upon the bartop for both hungover Supes to enjoy. Lacey had to bite down on her bottom lip at hearing them singing again.

  
  


**QUINN:  
** Lousy as he felt, that got a laugh out of him. It was surprising and short-lived, cutting off with a moan of pain as he put a hand to his head. What in Hades had he got into last night? He hadn’t felt this bad since… well, since the last time he’d hung out with Rory. Quinn was beginning to get a bad feeling about those missing hours. Blinking past the headache, Quinn wondered at the injustice of the fact that one of the few things his werewolf healing didn’t heal was a hangover. Sure, it protected him from alcohol poisoning but he still felt like shit afterward, perhaps not as much as a normal mundane but enough to make his choices the night before well known. That sinking dread only got worse when he saw Lacey pull her phone out of her pocket and, after tapping the screen a few times, laid it out on the bar as though she were presenting some kind of trophy. Indeed, she seemed very pleased with herself. Of course, the reason for that, and much else besides, became all too clear when he registered what it was he was seeing on the phone screen. Was that… Lionel Richie? And was that Rory singing- oh… _oh no..._

**RORY:**  
Groaning, Rory lifted his face off the bar to peer blearily at the phone, not seeming to realize that there was a paper napkin stuck to his face. In fact, the moment he saw what was playing on the small screen, his mouth fell open and he didn’t seem to realize much of anything except the dawning truth of what his sister had managed to capture. It wasn’t the first of such videos nor was it likely to be the last. Last time they’d been in London, Lacey had documented a series of adventures in which a vilely drunk Rory had stolen a bicycle and rode it - not using his hands at any point - through Trafalgar Square. There, he attempted to climb Nelson’s Column and fight with Nelson. There was a missing section of time where she lost him but the video picked up again with Rory, having wandered into Hyde Park, was standing in the middle of the Serpentine, arms spread wide, shouting ‘Ducks, embrace me as your king!’ (It was well known that Rory hated ducks for reasons which were entirely his own and known only to him). That night, he’d also made inappropriate, amorous advances to a startled, grandmotherly sort selling flowers, a rich lady’s Irish Setter, an innocent hat stand in a building he’d teleported into, and the constable who attempted to arrest him for trespass into said building. It was only when Rory tried to teleport away that he ‘ported himself right smack into the side of a _stationary_ lorry. Whatever happened after that was unclear. Yet this, somehow, was so much worse because it involved Quinn, Quinn who it seemed had been talking to him again… singing with him and it appeared that would be ending before he could even remember it beginning.

**QUINN:**  
It all came rushing back to him then, the drinks by the fire while he tried to sort out inventory backlogs, hearing music from the storage cellar, finding Rory completely smashed and listening to a playlist of love songs, and the rest of the night that followed - their inaugural ‘bro-nacht’ as Rory had called it. “Oh no…” he moaned, his hand sliding down the side of his face in horror. Well then, by the look of the bottles on the floor, they’d gotten into the fairy wine. That explained the memory loss and his truly spectacular hangover.

**RORY:**  
Despite hearing Quinn’s obvious meltdown beside him, after the initial shock wore off, Rory was able to view the contents of the video with some detachment. “You know…” he mused softly, propping an elbow on the bar to hold up his head with one hand. “We make a pretty good duet, Q.” Then, as if on cue, Rory heard himself in the video say, ‘I love you, man.’ and Q’s answering, ‘I know.’ Lifting his head, Rory looked up at Quinn with an expression of overwhelming emotion. “Aww, you made a Star Wars reference. You really do love me!” Throwing out his arms, Rory beckoned the wolf into them. “Come here ya great big lug.”

**QUINN:  
** Just when Quinn had thought that it was as bad as it could possibly get, it got worse. Somehow, even remembering the night, he’d managed to block out that last bit. Groaning, Quinn sank forward until both elbows rested on the bar, his hands holding up his aching head. Then, of course, it got even worse. This was why it was a bad idea for him to drink with Rory. For one, it always got weird. And two, it always seemed to give the trickster the impression that he could get away with things… like hugging him. “No.” he protested, with a raised hand, a finger pointing threateningly at Rory.

**RORY:**  
Rory just nodded and stood up from the stool, taking a step towards him. “Oh, come on. Get in here!” he bellowed, despite his headache, his mouth split in a wide, affectionate grin. ****

**QUINN:**  
Quinn needed another drink. He needed to rewind time. Could the witch do that? He’d pay her whatever she wanted if she could erase the last 12 hours of his life, hell, he’d give her his firstborn if she wanted. However, as that wouldn’t fix his current predicament, Quinn went for the tried and true method of the ages: fleeing. “I’m going back to bed,” he said before turning and striding quickly out of the room to the stairs. He didn’t dare try the elevator as that only worked half of the time. Of course, no amount of locked doors would hold Rory at bay, he only hoped the trickster was too hungover to teleport after him.

**RORY:**  
As Quinn retreated, Rory bellowed “LET ME LOVE YOU!!” and ran after him, chasing him until the wolf had disappeared upstairs. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, Rory lowered his arms and returned to the bar. Settling back onto his stool, he pushed the ice pack across the bartop to Lacey, still grinning. “I feel much better now.”

**LACEY:  
** The video was a gold mine...but the reaction she got was even better. It was priceless. Lacey always told herself to start a YouTube channel that starred her brother, because that would gain a shit ton of views. However, exposing the supernatural community was frowned upon. That was perhaps the only reason why she hadn’t uploaded her collection of videos, which was a shame because someone could totally make a hot remix of ‘Ducks, embrace me as your king!’

As the two watched with opened mouths, Lacey casually leaned her elbows upon the counter to rest her chin on her knuckles; a big, giant smile on her face. “This made my night, fellas. It’s so precious…”

Finally, Quinn seemed to snap and walk away to try in a futile attempt to avoid further embarrassment. But, naturally, her brother wasn’t willing to just let him go. “Aw, come back, Wolfie! I want you to sing to me!” The bastard actually had a decent voice, even in a drunken stupor. She was cackling as Rory chased after him, only to return with a smile that matched her own. “Good,” she said as she continued to wipe things down and prep the bar for the evening. Lacey didn’t think work looked good on her, but...she was actually enjoying it here a bit.

“So…” she began, wondering if she should just ease into the question or just come straight out with it. She went with the latter. “Are you, uh, taking on my sloppy seconds?” Not that she thought Quinn swung that way, but her brother had been known to convert a few fellas here and there. He was her brother, after all. What else could have that ridiculous display have been? Sappy-ass love tunes weren’t usually on his playlist. His “theme song” for the longest time (okay, it was only a week but he wouldn’t shut up for five minutes over it) was LMFAO’s “Sexy and I Know It”.

 _I got passion in my pants and I ain’t afraid to show it._ Great, now it was going to be stuck in her head for the rest of the day.

**RORY:**  
His newly improved mood lasted only as long as it took Lacey to open her mouth and make it weird again. “UGH! EW!” he cried, physically recoiling from her and falling off his barstool in the process. “Uhnnn.” he moaned from the vicinity of the floor. Really, he should just take up residence there. By the fresh ache in places where he already had bruises, Rory was beginning to get an idea of what had happened the night before. Now if only he could remember where the perfectly circular bruise on his forehead had come from…

-fin-


End file.
